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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24470272">Magic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearfriendicanfly/pseuds/dearfriendicanfly'>dearfriendicanfly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate/stay night &amp; Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cooking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, happy bday kal!, sunny day ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:01:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24470272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearfriendicanfly/pseuds/dearfriendicanfly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“...It’s a kind of magic, you know. Your cooking, that is. It’s far more precious than anything I could teach you.”</i>
</p>
<p>In spite of everything, one thing remains the same all throughout Shirou's life: he loves to cook. His father called it a kind of magic all its own. As time goes by, he begins to understand why.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emiya Kiritsugu &amp; Emiya Shirou, Emiya Shirou &amp; Artoria Pendragon | Saber, Emiya Shirou &amp; Fujimura Taiga, Emiya Shirou &amp; Matou Sakura, Emiya Shirou &amp; Ryuudou Issei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAL!! Only the best of wishes to you today, you deserve to have a great one. Thanks for being a light in a dark time. &lt;3</p>
<p>(ps im sorry i've only watched ubw and emiya gohan pls have mercy if any of this is inaccurate or ooc)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It didn’t take long for Shirou to figure out that Taiga had a favorite kind of meal – the free kind, already laid out on the table whenever she showed up unannounced, as if she were telepathically connected to Shirou’s kitchen timer. </p>
<p>“You don’t even have an English lesson today,” Shirou might mumble, begrudgingly serving up the extra serving that he had already thought to prepare. “It’s the weekend, don’t you have <em> friends </em> to hang out with?”</p>
<p>“Lots!” Taiga might say happily, mouth watering as she waited for Kiritsugu to join so that she could dig in. “But none of them are as good at cooking as you.”</p>
<p>“You’re just buttering me up so you can have seconds.”</p>
<p>“Yup!”</p>
<p>Just as Taiga liked free food, Kiritsugu liked hearty, savory foods, Shirou also realized. Though Kiritsugu was not a very adventurous cook, he always gravitated toward heartier meals – warm stews, seared meats, root vegetables. Even as a child, some part of Shirou understood that a good, stout meal had a healing effect, and Kiritsugu had a lot of healing to do. </p>
<p>And so Shirou learned to cook hamburgers, and when Kiritsugu took a bite and his tired eyes lit up, his pallid face tinged with fresh color, it made Shirou’s little heart soar.</p>
<p>“How is it?” Shirou would ask in a small voice, his hands restless in his lap under the table.</p>
<p>“It’s delicious,” Kiritsugu would answer, his voice equally soft, and his smile even softer.</p>
<p>“<em> Super </em> delicious!” Taiga would interject – her presence was always a sort of interjection in itself. But though uninvited, she was always welcome, and she knew it, much to Shirou’s dismay. And so this little dinnertime drama would play out almost every night, Taiga playing the carefree comedienne, Shirou the straight man, and Kiritsugu the bemused spectator. </p>
<p>And something in the meal would heal him.</p>
<p>One night, after the usual dinner antics, Shirou found Kiritsugu sitting in the engawa and looking out at the garden with a familiar faraway look in his eye. He didn’t acknowledge Shirou as he sat down beside him, aside from a small smile playing at his mouth as he continued to stare out at something Shirou couldn’t see.</p>
<p>“That dinner you made really was delicious,” Kiritsugu said, after some minutes of comfortable silence broken only by the soft sound of wind chimes. “I hope you know I mean it every time I compliment your cooking. You’re certainly already a better cook than I ever was.”</p>
<p>Shirou blushed at the unexpectedly earnest praise. “I-I just think cooking’s fun,” he stammered. “It’s not like I don’t like your food.”</p>
<p>Kiritsugu laughed at that, quiet and hoarse. “Of course not. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, though. I never had a knack for it… Maybe my palate just isn’t very sophisticated.” But the fog of his eyes told Shirou that there was more to it than that. One of those things Kiritsugu would tell him when he was older, he guessed.</p>
<p>For a while, they sat in silence once again, watching the sky grow gradually darker. When the first few stars began to appear and Kiritsugu’s train of thought showed no signs of stopping, Shirou took it as his cue to leave. </p>
<p>Then, to his surprise, Kiritsugu turned to him suddenly, his expression hesitant, as if he were searching for just the right words.</p>
<p>“...It’s a kind of magic, you know,” he finally said, and his face showed no sign of humor. Just a kind of bright-eyed honesty that Shirou rarely saw in him. “Your cooking, that is. It’s far more precious than anything I could teach you.”</p>
<p>Shirou turned bright red at that, though from embarrassment or indignation, he wasn’t sure. “That’s– it’s not really– I mean– You’ve taught me lots of things!” he finally choked out, overwhelmed with something too complicated for a ten-year-old to articulate. “Useful things! A-And I can show you how to cook anything you want! So… So…”</p>
<p>So what? So don’t look so sad and tired all the time? What did <em> that </em> have to do with cooking? Shirou sat there, red-faced and confused, staring in embarrassment at his hands sitting in his lap.</p>
<p>Kiritsugu laughed again, and the sound of it was different than usual. It came out of him as if he didn’t expect it to. When Shirou glanced up at his father, the smile on his face was so warm and genuine that it took his breath away.</p>
<p>He reached out and stroked Shirou’s hair, his thumb trailing over his cheek. “Well, if I could make something even half as tasty as your food, I think I could die happy.”</p>
<p>Two years later, Kiritsugu died, happy or otherwise. </p>
<p>Shirou did not eat for two days. After the funeral, he holed himself up in his room, drifting in and out of uneasy and sporadic sleep. The house was too big. His room felt too small. He shivered. His skin felt hot. He could not make sense of anything.</p>
<p>He only knew that he was alone now, well and truly. No one would come to his rescue.</p>
<p>He heard his door slide open quietly and bolted upright, his heart pounding as he thought wildly that maybe, just maybe– </p>
<p>But he saw Taiga’s pale face peek around the door and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.</p>
<p>“...Is this a bad time?” she whispered.</p>
<p>Shirou closed his eyes, letting his heart settle. For a while, he didn’t respond. Something welled up in him for a moment and threatened to overtake him, but it passed as quickly as it came and left him feeling only drained.</p>
<p>He shrugged, staring at the floor. He wasn’t sure what to say.</p>
<p>Taiga awkwardly slid the door the rest of the way open and shuffled into the room, hiding something behind her back. Shirou thought he smelled something vaguely smoky.</p>
<p>“I… uh… I made you something,” she mumbled. “But I don’t think I did it right. You don’t have to eat it. I’ll order something, I just– I figured you must be hungry and–”</p>
<p>“You <em> cooked? </em>”</p>
<p>Taiga grimaced at his tone, but she had no room to protest. “Well, uh… I tried to, yeah.” Reluctantly, she showed him the horribly charred hamburg steak she had been hiding. Shirou stared.</p>
<p>“I-I thought I had the right temperature, but I’m not so good with gas stoves, and I– well, I mean, look at it…” </p>
<p>The two of them stared at the plate for some time, the charred lump of meat looking even more dejected in the dim gloom of Shirou’s room.</p>
<p>“I’m really sorry,” Taiga said quietly, and Shirou knew she wasn’t just talking about the hamburger.</p>
<p>“...Can I try a bite?”</p>
<p>Taiga’s face screwed up in embarrassment. “I-I mean, if you’re really hungry, but I can order–”</p>
<p>Shirou took the plate before she could protest and dug out a chunk with his fork. He swallowed it practically whole, unable to bear chewing it for long.</p>
<p>But he took another bite all the same. And another. And another. Slowly, painfully, he ate the whole thing.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure when he started crying, or even why, but Taiga inhaled sharply and he felt tears on his cheeks as he chewed on the rubbery steak.</p>
<p>“Is it <em> that </em> bad?!” she fretted. “It’s not gonna poison you, is it?!”</p>
<p>Shirou laughed at that, a snorting kind of watery laugh that almost made him spit out the steak. “No,” he sniffled, “but it does taste pretty bad.” He wiped his face messily on his shirtsleeve. “But I like it. Thanks, Fuji-nee.”</p>
<p>Taiga’s eyes welled with tears too as she suddenly reached out and wrapped Shirou tightly in a hug. If he’d had the strength in his arms, he would have hugged her back, but all he could do was rest his head against her chest and get tears all over her shirt. Her heart beat in his ear, strong and steady, and the smoky aftertaste of her awful cooking lingered in the back of his throat.</p>
<p>Taiga was alive. She was mourning with him. He was not alone.</p>
<p>After a while, Shirou felt a calm wash over him, and the tears stopped. He wiped his face again on his shirtsleeve and she let go of him, her own face red and swollen.</p>
<p>“Show me what you did,” Shirou said, standing up. “I’ll help you this time.”</p>
<p>Dinner that night was quiet, as Shirou and Taiga struggled to figure out their roles in this strange new melodrama.</p>
<p>But it tasted wonderful.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Issei’s lunches were always somewhat spartan, in keeping with his generally severe personality and tendency toward asceticism. If Issei had opened his bento box to reveal nothing but plain rice, it would have felt in character for him, somehow.</p>
<p>But one day, as he opened his own lunch, Shirou caught Issei staring.</p>
<p>He raised an eyebrow, and Issei coughed, turning a little red at being caught.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I was just thinking your lunches on Fridays are always a little… out there.”</p>
<p>Shirou laughed, looking at the tupperware container of karaage curry. “Oh, Fridays are leftover days. I just pack up whatever’s in the fridge so it doesn’t go to waste.”</p>
<p>“Leftovers, huh… do you cook for yourself at home?”</p>
<p>“I do, yeah. Fuji-nee couldn’t cook if her life depended on it – her words, not mine.”</p>
<p>Issei chuckled at that. “I feel her pain. I never have the time to cook stuff like that.”</p>
<p>Shirou glanced at his friend, a little sharply. Issei’s face looked somewhat wistful for the briefest of moments before he shook himself and dug into his own somewhat meager lunch.</p>
<p>Shirou had never thought before about how much time he dedicated to cooking – from looking through and compiling recipes to doing the shopping to the actual process itself, he must have spent hours upon hours every week just on cooking. Issei didn’t have that luxury. As student council president, he brought a lot of extra work home with him. And as a resident of Ryuudou temple, his morning commute was no joke – two hours on foot, from the temple to school and then back again. Shirou wondered at how he found the time to rest at all.</p>
<p>He wondered what kind of food Issei would eat if he had the time to cook for himself.</p>
<p>That weekend, Shirou broke out his recipe book and got to work. By the time that Monday rolled around, his fridge was so full with different dishes that he wondered at how he had even managed to cook them all. It was as if he’d gone into a fugue state and just snapped out of it to find a fridge stuffed full of tupperware. Even Taiga hadn’t dared to interrupt him, though she moaned and groaned plenty once he was done about how hungry she was and how mean it was of Shirou to cook all those lovely dishes and not let her have any. He promised her the leftovers once he’d finished his little experiment.</p>
<p>When Shirou showed up in the student council office with two lunch boxes, Issei raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Hungry, are you?” he said, amused.</p>
<p>Shirou smiled. “Nah, but I hope <em> you </em> are.”</p>
<p>Issei frowned, confused, as Shirou gestured to the second box. When it dawned on him what Shirou was saying, he turned bright red.</p>
<p>“I couldn’t–” he started, but Shirou shook his head.</p>
<p>“You can just eat the lunch you already packed if you don’t like it, but… would you try it? I’m– uh– trying out a new recipe and I wanted a second opinion.”</p>
<p>Issei squinted at his friend from behind his glasses, but he relented and took the lunch. Slowly, almost like he wasn’t sure what to expect, he lifted the lid from the container. Shirou’s heart leapt in his chest when he saw the sparkle in Issei’s eyes.</p>
<p>“That… looks delicious…” he said, almost in disbelief.</p>
<p>“Heh, thanks. I had some leftover tonkatsu.”</p>
<p>“But that’s not tonkatsu sauce?”</p>
<p>“No, that’s a sauce I made myself. Are you okay with spicy food? It has a kick.”</p>
<p>“That’s fine,” Issei said quickly, his eyes still glittering as he grabbed his chopsticks and took a bite. The look on his face was more than anything Shirou could have hoped for.</p>
<p>“...I like the sauce,” Issei said quietly. “I wouldn’t change it.”</p>
<p>Every day that week, Shirou brought new dishes for Issei to try – some hearty and savory, some light and fresh, some sweet, some salty. Though Shirou always promised that Issei could eat his own lunch if he didn’t like Shirou’s dish, at some point, he noticed that Issei had stopped bringing his own lunch.</p>
<p>On Friday, the two of them shared a big container of leftover fried rice, which Issei dug into with the usual enthusiasm.</p>
<p>“I like the spicy shrimp in this,” Issei said around a mouthful. “I think you could get away with making it even spicier, though.”</p>
<p>“Agreed.” Shirou couldn’t help but smile. Issei’s cheeks were flushed, either from contentment or from the spice. He hoped it was the former.</p>
<p>“So…” Shirou said slowly, as they polished off the last of their lunch and sat back in their chairs. “Did you have a favorite recipe?”</p>
<p>Issei considered it for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table in thought. “Oh, I’m not sure,” he said lightly. But his eyes darted to Shirou and then away just as quickly.</p>
<p>“Well, that’s okay, but then what’s your favorite kind of food?”</p>
<p>Issei’s fingers drummed even more urgently on the table. “Oh, you know.”</p>
<p>“I don’t, though.”</p>
<p>Issei’s face grew redder by the second, his fingers drumming louder and louder. “D-Does it matter? I liked them all, I think you’re onto something with these recipes.”</p>
<p>Shirou deflated a little. He’d hoped to figure out Issei’s tastes by giving him a broad variety of dishes, but he’d reacted the same to each and every one.</p>
<p>Was it possible that he was just being polite about the dishes he didn’t like? Shirou’s heart sank. Had he forced himself to eat Shirou’s food?</p>
<p>Issei must have seen his friend’s face fall, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, the bell rang to signal the end of lunch. Reluctantly, the two of them packed all their things and Shirou decided the conversation would have to wait until Monday. </p>
<p>Issei paused at the door, however, and turned back around to face Shirou, his face bright crimson.</p>
<p>“My favorite kind of food is anything you make,” he blurted out, his eyes squeezed shut in his embarrassment. “You’re a great cook and I really enjoyed every dish. Nobody’s ever done that kind of thing for me, so I didn’t know how to respond, but I appreciated it from the bottom of my heart.”</p>
<p>And with that, he turned on his heel and hurried down the hall, his head bent low to hide his burning face.</p>
<p>Shirou made lunch for his friend every day after that.</p>
<p>While Issei had always seemed harried and fatigued from all his duties, at lunchtimes, he seemed to truly relax. Shirou’s food brought a light to his eyes and color to his face.</p>
<p>It reminded Shirou of something that he’d forgotten a long time ago. He thought, maybe, cooking a good meal could be as healing as eating it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Shirou’s arm was injured, he knew Taiga would be devastated to lose her chef, and he also was pretty despondent at the thought of eating Taiga’s cooking until he healed. Death might have been a kinder fate than that.</p>
<p>Issei dropped by on occasion to fret over Shirou and remind him severely not to overexert himself, and was sometimes even kind enough to bring takeout. But Issei was rarely able to find the time to do anything but work, and so his visits were infrequent.</p>
<p>As it turned out, however, he didn’t need to worry. Matou Sakura began coming to visit to check on him, and to help out around the house, despite his protests.</p>
<p>“It’s not a bother,” she always assured him, though she seemed nervous enough to run for the hills if he showed any annoyance at her hanging around. He did not, of course, because he was not annoyed at all. Only a little bewildered and guilty that she should waste her free time nursing an arguable stranger.</p>
<p>He tried his best to get things done on his own so as not to burden her, but most of the time, it only led to further embarrassment. He would drop dishes, or wear himself out mopping the dojo, or nearly spill hot food all over the kitchen floor when he foolishly tried to cook. In the end, Taiga intervened, declaring that the kitchen would be Sakura’s domain, and the rest of the housework would be left to Taiga, and Shirou would sit quietly and convalesce like a convalescent should, or else she would give him a good enough thrashing in the dojo that he wouldn’t have a choice.</p>
<p>Sakura’s cooking was basic, but by no means bad. And even if it had been, Shirou would never dream of complaining when she was helping him out of the (somewhat baffling) kindness of her heart. After a while, though, she became curious about his recipe book.</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t mind if you read it,” Shirou assured her. “Most of them aren’t my recipes, anyway. It’s just a bunch of clippings from stuff I found online, mostly.”</p>
<p>Sakura flipped through the pages until one caught her eye. “You made a lot of notes on this one,” she mused, sitting down beside him at the table and laying out the book in front of him.</p>
<p>She had opened up to the page on omurice, which was full of notes and revisions written on the margins and on sticky notes and on scraps of paper pasted in clumsily. Shirou laughed as he picked up the book and looked closer.</p>
<p>“That’s because Fuji-nee and my dad were both really picky about omurice. I couldn’t find a recipe that they both seemed to like, so I had to figure one out. I don’t know why I tried so hard, Fuji-nee just straight up doesn’t like ketchup… but I guess I was just being stubborn. It’s the only thing I ever made that she turned her nose up at.”</p>
<p>“You must have worked really hard,” Sakura said softly. Her eyes flitted over Shirou’s ten-year-old scribbles, and it was hard to discern her expression. “I’m sure they were really grateful.”</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Shirou frowned. Something in her voice sounded odd, but he didn’t press her.</p>
<p>“...Is it okay if I try making this for dinner?”</p>
<p>“Huh? Oh– sure, if you want to! I can help–”</p>
<p>“N-No, it’s okay, I can do it on my own, I think… Yeah, I can manage this!”</p>
<p>And so Shirou watched from the sitting room as Sakura worked to decipher his childhood scrawl. Slowly, she gathered each ingredient as she read it off the list, and rifled through the cabinets for the cookware she would need. She took her time and was very methodical about it, reading and rereading the book at every step as if to make absolutely sure she hadn’t missed anything.</p>
<p>Once again, Shirou was a little guilty at how hard Sakura was working for his sake, and more than that, he was confused. He wondered again what exactly had compelled her to come to help him, and got the feeling that it was about more than just him. Or about omurice.</p>
<p>Maybe that thing that he’d once hoped Kiritsugu would tell him about when he was older. He was seventeen now, and no closer to understanding it than when he was ten. </p>
<p>He wasn’t sure how long he'd spent thinking about Kiritsugu before Sakura startled him out of his thoughts.</p>
<p>“I… I don’t think I did it right,” she murmured, clearly abashed.</p>
<p>The plate she laid out in front of him was a little messy – the egg had burst open and was a little crinkled in places by the spatula, but otherwise it looked fine.</p>
<p>"It never comes out right the first time," Shirou reassured her. "Next time you'll nail it for sure."</p>
<p>"Next time..." Sakura looked thoughtful. Shirou decided to leave her to her thoughts while he ate.</p>
<p>He took a bite.</p>
<p>For a minute, he and Sakura both were silent as he chewed, his brow drawn in concentration.</p>
<p>Sakura began to look worried. “I-If you don’t like it, I can–”</p>
<p>“It’s different,” Shirou mused.</p>
<p>Sakura went red, her mouth twisting in embarrassment. “I’m sorry…”</p>
<p>“No!” Shirou shook his head emphatically. “No, I mean… it’s <em> good </em>. It’s really, really good. What did you change?”</p>
<p>“I-I don’t think I changed anything…” Sakura picked up the recipe book and scanned the page, confused. “Maybe I misread it…”</p>
<p>Shirou shook his head thoughtfully. “No, you probably did just what it said… Well, people always talk about that kinda thing when it comes to cooking. Like two cooks can follow the exact same recipe and it’ll still come out a little different.” Shirou smiled. “There’s a little of you in it, I guess. You’re a great cook.”</p>
<p>Sakura’s lips pressed together tightly, and her eyes swam with something Shirou couldn’t identify. “Thanks,” she whispered, looking down at her mangled – but delicious – omurice.</p>
<p>The guilt that Shirou had felt evaporated as he ate the rest of his dinner. Something warm replaced it. For the first time, he was more glad for Sakura’s company than he was puzzled by it.</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s a kind of magic, you know. Far more precious than anything I could teach you. </em>
</p>
<p>Shirou thought maybe he was starting to understand.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The Holy Grail War was starting to feel like some distant dream. Things had already begun to return to some kind of normalcy. Taiga was back on her feet, Sakura was coming around to visit again (now accompanied by her sister), and Saber had become a permanent fixture of the Emiya household and its dinner table. On this cool winter night, Issei had also dropped by, and so they all gathered round a hotpot, chatting away happily.</p>
<p>Around them were plates piled with things to toss into the simmering, spicy broth – dumplings, glass noodles, mushrooms, tofu, and thinly shaved slices of meat. They had all made suggestions, and so they all added a bit of themselves into the pot. </p>
<p>“I’m surprised <em> you </em> had time to come by,” Rin said to Issei with an air of innocent surprise. “Not too busy to socialize, for once?”</p>
<p>“I’m never too busy for my <em> friends </em>,” Issei said pointedly, scooting closer to Shirou.</p>
<p>“That’s right, we’re <em> all </em> friends here.” Shirou glanced from one to the other, pleading silently. They relented and each turned to the person beside them to strike up friendlier conversation. </p>
<p>As Rin and Sakura compared each other’s hot pot favorites and Taiga regaled Issei with stories of her kendo days, Shirou turned to Saber, who seemed a bit overwhelmed at the whole proceeding.</p>
<p>“What looks good to you?” Shirou asked encouragingly.</p>
<p>“...All of it,” Saber admitted.</p>
<p>That made Shirou laugh, deep in his belly. “Good. Try it all!”</p>
<p>The whole meal passed in a blur of laughter and contentment and warmth, and when it was done, Shirou wondered that he truly wasn’t dreaming.</p>
<p>All that carnage, all the pain, and he was still here. Always, there was something that came after. Something warm and delicious.</p>
<p>Even after the meal, when everyone was full and getting sleepy, his guests loitered. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves so much that Shirou suggested that everyone spend the night.</p>
<p>“It’s a big house,” he shrugged. “You guys know you’re always welcome to stay here.”</p>
<p>On a whim, Shirou and Taiga pulled out the spare futons and converted the sitting room into one big bedroom, almost like a children’s sleepover.</p>
<p>No one protested. Even after everyone had settled in for bed, Shirou could hear the hushed conversations and laughter continue on into the night.</p>
<p>He’d meant to go retire to his own room, but the sight of the moon on that cloudless winter night gave him pause. He sat down on the engawa and felt the bracing winter air on his cheek and listened to the chime.</p>
<p>When Saber sat down beside him, he smiled.</p>
<p>“Something on your mind?” she asked lightly. “I thought you were going to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s just… it’s hard to put into words,” he admitted. “Everything feels a little unreal.”</p>
<p>“I can understand that…” Saber nodded thoughtfully. “It’s always hard to adjust to what comes after.”</p>
<p>“It’s not as hard with you around,” Shirou smiled. “I’m glad you stayed.”</p>
<p>Saber smiled too, small and reserved, but warm enough. “So am I, Shirou.”</p>
<p>The smile faded from his face, however, and he looked back out at the sliver of the moon surrounded by the faintest pinpricks of stars. Saber was quiet, apparently waiting for him to continue his thoughts. It was a while before he found either the words or the courage to verbalize them.</p>
<p>“...I wish…” he began, swallowing. His hands fiddled restlessly in his lap as they did when he was a child. “I wish Kiritsugu was here,” he said softly.</p>
<p>Saber stiffened slightly, but did not say anything.</p>
<p>“I know what you think of him,” Shirou continued hurriedly, “and I… I don’t think you’re wrong. It’s just…”</p>
<p>
  <em> If I could make something even half as tasty as your food, I think I could die happy. </em>
</p>
<p>Shirou closed his eyes and took a deep breath.</p>
<p>“There’s just so much that came after,” he murmured. “I wish he knew that. Something always comes after. It’s stupid, but I wish he could see the house like this, so full of people… and that… that he was still around to taste my food.” He smiled wryly. “I know that’s a weird thing to wish for, but… I don’t know. It feels important.”</p>
<p>Saber shook her head slowly. “It isn’t stupid in the slightest, Shirou…” </p>
<p>She took a deep breath of her own, her eyes staring out somewhere far away. “Perhaps <em> this </em> sounds stupid, but… if he were alive today, and he could see you… I think he might have become a decent cook.”</p>
<p>As she stood, she let her hand ghost along the ends of Shirou’s hair. “Get some rest soon,” she said gently. “Good night, Shirou.”</p>
<p>Something deep in Shirou’s chest that had been sitting there for ten years unknotted itself, unfurling to fill him. He let it come and go as he sat there beneath the moon, listening to the sound of faint laughter in the distance and the gentle song of chimes. He thought it might be magic, truer than any magecraft he had seen.</p>
<p>As he finally went off to bed, he smiled as he pondered what to cook for breakfast in the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is mostly me projecting my own feelings about food and cooking onto shirou as usual but also I hope that my friends who read this know that this is also a love letter to them for being "what comes after" for me. I love you all and I hope soon to be able to share meals with you again. &lt;3</p>
<p>Happy bday again Kal, ilu!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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